


Despite

by conniebeauchamp



Category: Casualty (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conniebeauchamp/pseuds/conniebeauchamp
Summary: Connie Beauchamp swears that, this time, Sam Strachan won't break her; he's done that enough times already. Sam, however, is determined to break down her barriers. /response to an anon prompt on tumblr.





	Despite

A knock to the door of her office startles Connie from her number analysis, and she looks up to see Sam Strachan in the doorway. Being startled almost immediately turns to irritation – and an uncanny desire to be childish, two moods which only emerge together when Sam is around.

“Enter,” she calls coolly, having paused a moment – to assert her dominance over the situation or to simply compose herself, she isn’t quite sure which is true. “Yes?” She says as soon as Sam is through the threshold, keen for this conversation to be over with as soon as possible.

“Bay Three’s results are back,” Sam says, crisp and to the point as usual. “And, as you’re still insisting on having my cases signed off by a consultant, I’ve got three patients ready to discharge when you’re ready.”

It takes everything within Connie to avoid rising to his bait – and even then, it’s a barely contained, thinly veiled response. “Yes, well, if you had trained in emergency medicine there wouldn’t be a problem,” she responds, setting her pen down. “I’ll be right out, thank you, Mr Strachan.” Saying his name is her way of indicating that this conversation is, for now, over – until she has to suggest a change to his course of treatment for at least one patient, he gets crabby, and insists that he’s a better doctor than she is.

Sam hesitates, and it becomes clear that there’s something else he wants to add. Not that Connie has to be an expert in his body language to understand that; the fact that he doesn’t immediately bolt out of the still-ajar door makes that abundantly clear to her.

“Look, Connie…” Sam begins, before noticing her attention has shifted to the door. He deliberately closes it, making it clear the private (and therefore, with their history, personal) conversation he’s about to invoke. “Are we actually going to have a conversation longer than about three seconds about something that isn’t a patient or a rota question?”

With the greatest strength, Connie forces a watery smile onto her lips.

“What exactly is it that you want to talk about?” she asks, folding her arms. “The moment that you decided to disappear – with our daughter in tow – without a word? Or the moment that you returned, three weeks later, suddenly unable to stop apologising for how ridiculous your decision was?”

Sam snorts, but it’s not dismissive for once in their ridiculously topsy-turvy relationship. “And, as you mention, I’ve apologised for that. Profusely.”

“Therefore there’s nothing else to say,” Connie replies curtly. “That’s all.”

“No it isn’t,” Sam retorts. “Because I fucked up, I know I did. But before that…before that, we had a future. I know we did.”

“You’re spot on,” Connie agrees, for once putting her eggs in the same basket as her arch-nemesis and greatest love. “We _had_ a future. Now we don’t.”

“We will,” Sam vows, his eternal optimism for once directed at their joke of a relationship. “You might not believe me now, Connie, but I guarantee we will be together.”

She doesn’t reply, and he finally takes her silence as a cue to leave.

However, just before he’s out of the door completely, he turns back to face her, and raises his voice slightly. “Did you do something different with your hair?” He asks, an almost puzzled expression on his face. “Because you look more beautiful than ever, Connie Beauchamp.”

She can feel her cheeks turning red, and her gaze slips beyond Sam to the now-entranced gaggle of doctors at the workstation.

“Another comment like that and you’ll be up for a tribunal for inappropriate comments in the workplace,” she replies, her tone ice-cold. “Get back to work, Mr Strachan.”

“Will do, beautiful.” He winks.

She could strangle him.


End file.
